


A London Affair

by Kashmirgirl1976



Series: ...And When She Was Bad [1]
Category: Benedict Cumberbatch - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-05-05 00:02:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5353262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kashmirgirl1976/pseuds/Kashmirgirl1976
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>American Latanya Saint Laurent arrives in London to complete her Creative Writing fellowship.  Unbeknownst to her, she enters into an affair with the Sherlock star, Benedict Cumberbatch.  Emotion weaves into the situation, and despite the scandal, she refuses to let go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An American Work in Progress

I stuck by a basic rule: No married men. They encouraged trouble, dirty work, and pain. One slip through and I let him throw me off my game. What a crime! My punishment? A city hated me for my goof. One I adored since the first spin of the Beatles “Penny Lane” on my father’s record player. Holy shit. I fucked up. I did not know about the wife and kid, honest. I did not know.   
What I did know, however, began on a day, misty and cold. I dragged two rolling suitcases and a tote bag from Heathrow to Pimlico, my new residence for about a year while on my creative writing fellowship.   
The taxi driver slipped his number into my hand as I exchanged the forty-two pounds fifty. “In case, you want a friend to talk to…” He smiled a mouth full of teeth swimming in last night’s pub-crawl.   
“Honey goes so well with tea, if you know what I mean.” He caressed my arm. I gagged from within.   
“No thanks. I have a boyfriend.”  
“I doubt you’ll have him for long.”  
I rolled my eyes. “Okay. Bye now.”  
I waited for him to round the corner before climbing the three steps to the front door of my flat. Sixteen steps later, I turned the key to my new home. Oh boy. The realtor informed me to expect a tight space. Damn. The furnished studio had enough for a bed, a tiny sofa, and miniature kitchen and bathroom in their separate areas. Perfect for a dwarf. Hell, I’m 5’2, so why bitch?   
I dropped my bags in the corner. “I’ll deal with you later.” The apple juice from all forty minutes worth called my name and I mad dashed it to the bathroom. Olympic talent number one.  
“Whoa. Remind me never to jump too quickly from the toilet. Damn.” One swift move and a kneecap discerned true pain once it met the bottom end of the basin nearby.  
The clock on the wall yielded five o’clock. I put on my pea coat, grey and black plaid, a hand-me- down from my sister, crying on the way to the airport.  
“You will be alone there. It’s not safe.” She sniffed into her fifth tissue, blubbering.   
“I’m damn near forty. No one’s safe around me.” I snorted as I waved good-bye.  
I laughed at the memory as I strolled down Belgrave Road, past tourists, unaware of their opened bags and the eager hands nicking their wallets. Poor souls. My stomach rumbled as I neared the local Tesco’s. Grabbing a shopping basket, I tossed a premade chicken curry sandwich, a couple of packages of biscuits, a liter of milk, some Earl’s Grey, sugar, and a package of bottled water. No sense of wreaking havoc on the kitchen. Along with some sponges and cleanser, I paid for my goodies and headed back to my apartment. A full day beckoned tomorrow. With the new gig at the bookshop and meeting with my advisor, the bed heeded its call.   
I glimpsed the tag on the comforter and cut the light. “Ah, thank god for new sheets.”  
# # #  
A quick shower without hot water - the gods hate me - and a tepid cup of tea – those bastards despise me with unadulterated abandon - greeted me before I managed to make it to the Tube. I missed my stop. I exited at the next stop of Belsize Park and walked to the spot foolish in their daring to hiring me. Their dime…  
“Latanya…” A woman of about thirty-three scurried to the entrance, hands dancing before her. Her glasses, black and horn-rimmed, nudged a space in the middle of her nose. She straightened them as she smiled.  
“Yes, hi. Wilhelmina?”  
“Willie, please. Are you ready to get your hands dirty?” Her smile revealed a gap between her two front teeth. I cocked my head, admiring it since I adored imperfections on people. For her gap, I introduced her to my freckles speckled on my cheeks and various parts of my body where the fortunate ventured. My mother called me a chocolate-chip cookie. I preferred snickerdoodles.   
“It’s a used bookshop, I’m sure I’ll get a papercut or two.”  
“I love a good sense of humor.” She brushed her wavy, chestnut brown bob dyed black. The roots snitched the truth. “Not too much of that nowadays.”  
“Are you American?”   
“Half.” She laughed. “I kept my mother’s dulcet tones for my sanity and to drive my grandparents’ nuts. They’re from Manchester.”  
I chuckled, removing my coat. “So where would you like me?”  
“I have some Austin that needs shelving.” She pinched her mouth in mid-thought. “Want the duty of keeping Mr. Darcy at bay?”  
I shrugged. “Who wouldn’t?”  
She handed me a stack of books. “You’re familiar with the ins and outs of the store already.”  
“Hmm-mmm.”  
“Now I must warn you.” She cleared her throat as she stretched her long arms. “This is a well-known area for celebs. They come in and out, looking to expand their minds. That is our job. So, do not get nervous or freak out when you see them pop in. Last week, Victoria Beckham came in for some stylebooks from the forties. For her new dress line, I believe.”  
“Cool.”  
“Indeed. Do not indulge them. Treat them like the average life form like us.”  
“Not a problem.”  
“Oh, and no flirting with the customers. Take that, as you will. I carry a can of water to mist myself from time to time. “  
She pointed to me. “Don’t freak out.”  
“I’ll do my best.”  
The soft clang of the wind chimes broke our silence. “Here’s your test.”   
She grinned. “Let’s see what you’re made of, cutie.”  
A man entered, a tad scruffy with stubble stumbling through and baggy jeans. He removed some white earbuds, dangling them from his neck as he scanned the new arrivals of feminist fiction on the round table near the cash register. About six foot tall, auburn hair caught in a tug of war with dark brown tufts, he wore a newsboy cap and ushered a sense of awkwardness clashing with the London scene of hipsters and yuppies.   
She whispered, pushing me closer to him. “Handle this one with care.”  
“Okay. I guess so.”  
“You have no idea who he is.” She widened her eyes. Her mouth formed the perfect O to stuff an imperfect scone.  
“Nope.” I shook my head, scanning the fellow before me. “He’s cute. Am I supposed to recognize him?”  
“He plays the new Sherlock?” She waved her hand in the air, attempting to coax a false memory.   
I shrugged. “I thought Robert Downey Jr…”  
“You’ll do just fine here.” She nodded.  
“Hey, Willie.” The man said. The deep tone shook me. From the looks of him, he sounded like a man beyond his years. A tingle jerked my spine, curious but not overwhelmed by his presence.  
“Hello, Benedict.”  
“You have a new pair of hands, I see.”  
“Real new. She moved here from the States.”  
“Welcome. I’m Benedict.” His eyes, piercing, probing, pranced. I like you. I don’t know why but I do.  
”Got it.” I grinned. “Thanks for the welcome. I’m Latanya, by the way.”  
“Latanya. That is a not an overused name I am sure.”  
“My mother wanted me to stand out.”  
“I understand. I came close to introducing myself as Toby.”  
I laughed. Oh, shit. “I’m not laughing at your mother – I’m…never mind.”  
“No worries.” When he smiled, the deep Cupid’s bow framing his mismatched lips dipped. Fascinating.  
“Do you normally read feminist fiction?”  
“A little bit of this. A little bit of that. I am enjoying Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s work.”  
“Have you read We Should All Be Feminists?” Calm down your cheerleading days split years ago. “It’s a great read.”  
“Yes. I have tried to get my friends to do the same.”  
“Keep trying. You’ll break through.”  
He swung his hand into his jeans pocket and retrieved a card. I twirled a piece of my curly tendrils as I waited. Don’t be that chick, please. I rested my hand behind my back. Its fidgeting stayed beyond its welcome.  
“Do you like classical music?”  
“I can appreciate the genre, though I’m not a big fan.”  
He cocked a crooked smile and blushed. “If you’re not busy, why not listen to a friend of mine in concert?”  
“Why not? I don’t anyone that doesn’t sign my paychecks or class forms.”  
“Well, here’s my number.” He took my phone from my skinny jeans pocket and tapped the numbers. “I can send a car to your place, if you’d like.”  
“Send a car? Me?”  
“The Tube’s safe and all, but since I invited you, it’s only fitting…” He bit his bottom lip. No better lie eclipsed me. The bottom lip tempted mine. Two full bottom lips tapping in the night rocked my soul.  
“Great. Call me and I’ll arrange everything.”  
“Okay. Thanks.”  
“Willie, just this one…” He dropped a tenner on the counter and waved goodbye.  
“Latanya, I should tell you…”  
I hummed a tune on my way back to my girl, Jane. I looked over my shoulder. “Did you say something?”  
“Never mind.” She pursed her lips and folded the recyclable bags.


	2. Classical or Classless?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A classical musical outing turns delectable as Latanya and Benedict start their party.

The car arrived at six. Willie treated me to a mani-pedi from her favorite salon during my lunch break.   
“You must look the part.”  
“What part? I’m going to see a dude played the piano for two hours.”  
“Expect the unexpected.”  
While I rode in the car, I stared down at my long toes. The red veneer shone against the honey of my skin in the dark car. I selected the color to coordinate with the lone, little black dress hanging in my closet. I spied the natural curls gathered in a neat bun on the top of my head.  
“Sir, where are we going?”  
“St. Mary’s Perivale.”  
“Excuse me?”  
“It’s a gorgeous 12th-century church. I managed to see a performance once. Splendid acoustics.”  
“Good to know.”  
“Nervous?”  
“I’m in a car, spending an evening with a man I don’t know.” I blew out a breath and smoothed my dress. “I’m mellow as ever.”  
He laughed. “You’re in for a treat. He’s planned quite the night.”  
“Oh really?” I muttered. “The best choice is to sit and deal.”  
“Right.”  
We drove to the front.   
The chauffeur swung around the car and opened the door. “Enjoy your evening, Miss.”  
“Thanks.”  
He nudged my shoulder. “Relax.”  
The unassuming church, tiny with the fine touches of a dollhouse for privileged hands, beckoned a closer look. I entered. On my left, a small nook of people conversing on the day’s news, while sipping reds and whites and nibbling on squares of cheese and toasted bread. On the right, a black grand piano taking much of the space. No seats lined the floor, so to enjoy the acoustics and the performance; the church invited the audience to wrap themselves around the piano.  
“Damn.” I whispered as I stared at my stilettos, eying the flats in my closet in my mind.   
“You made it.” The jaguar purred in my ear. The spearmint of his breath chilled my neck. I spun around to find him dressed in a tailored black suit and midnight blue shirt, both drew the tint of his eyes to extraterrestrial levels.   
“How could I not? To be so gracious with the car…”  
“Did you enjoy the ride?” His eyes, feline, anchored his attention, cruising my figure while appearing courteous.   
“Yes.” I glimpsed his mouth. A surge to follow wherever those lips granted traipsed a yearning unmet for six months. Hold on. He’s a stranger. Worse yet, he could have murdered someone.  
“Do you have to rush home afterwards?”  
“No. My shift doesn’t start until noon.”  
“Good.” He muffled a laugh. “Good.”  
The pianist perched on his chair. We gathered around and took in each chord. As he played, Benedict brushed his right hand against my left. The hairs on my arm stood as his fingers, long enough to stroke the eighty-eight keys like a maestro, intertwined with mine. My fingers against his, mismatched, a toddler’s with her father’s.   
He leaned into my ear. “May I? I do not wish to presume…”  
“Did I let go?”  
His glance, icy blue clashed with a glint of naiveté, appraised me for the next move. He removed his hand.   
I said the wrong words. He’s an actor. I didn’t say yes in the way he wanted.   
He tightened the distance, small to begin with the standing room size. The bergamot notes peppered my nose. I swayed to the right. His hand grazed the small of my back, keeping me upright. Hello. Heat radiated my cheeks.   
“Do not fall for me…” He smiled. “…yet.”  
I giggled, covering my mouth. I feel sixteen again. The music soared as he cupped my waist and the heat lingered.  
# # #  
Two hours later, the car swung around the front and the same chauffeur opened the door. “Miss? Did you enjoy the show?”  
“Yes.” I cleared my throat. “It was…interesting.”  
“Lovely.”  
We sat for ten minutes. “Sir, why aren’t we moving?”  
“Do not worry, Miss. Everything’s under control.” He pushed the button and the partition raised.   
“Sir? What the hell? Take me home.”  
Silence.  
After a few seconds, the passenger door opposite me opened. Benedict slid into the car and locked the door. He pushed the intercom. “Edward, you may follow the map.”  
He slid the intercom to silent.  
“I’m sorry for the wait.” He cleared his throat and removed the blue scarf from his neck. He buckled his seat.   
“I accept your apology.” I swallowed as I scanned the texture of his suit. Impeccable tailoring.   
“Next time, remember a woman’s time is precious.” I drummed an imaginary watch on my wrist.  
“Indeed it is…” He leaned his arm on the door, placing his finger in-between his teeth. He sat still, pondering  
What was he thinking? How to get rid of this boring twat?   
“Are you seeing me home?” I leered his way. The clock in the car read nine thirty. Even though I had no other plans, I figured I’d settle in and finished another chapter of my manuscript.   
“No.”  
“No?”  
“I want to show you London. It is best when the lights come in the night.”  
“Wonderful.” My hand trailed the seat. Stop fidgeting. You’re not a child.  
“Do you have somewhere else you would rather be?”  
“No.” In the back of a Jaguar or stuffed in a studio with a red pen? Let’s see.  
“Wonderful.” He smiled.  
“Benedict, tell me about yourself.” I squirmed in my seat. The elephant stomped the back of the car. “I mean, we didn’t get to chat during the performance.”  
“What you need to know is this…”  
His fingers grazed mine splayed on the leather.  
“In my thirty-nine years, I have done what is best for everyone around me…”  
“I can imagine the pressure.” I fanned myself with my black evening clutch.  
“…and I am ready to do what is wrong, but so right, for me.”  
A therapy session? Tonight? The red pen called my name. Oh Edward…  
“Well, considering how old you are, do you and forget about what others think.” I wagged my finger.   
“You read my mind.”  
His lips, warm and soft, grazed my neck.   
“Benedict...um…” I flinched a bit. Sweat beads clung to the back of my neck. Floating, I grasped the side of my seat to regain some sense of consciousness.  
“May I have you?” He squinted, his voice lowered. He stroked my knee, circling the dimple inside it.  
“We just met.” I tucked my bottom lip. “What will you think of me?”  
“Why waste time?” His stroke transformed in to a rub.   
“No strings attached?” I tucked my lip again, masking a moan traipsing my throat.  
“I believe in our space. Yes.”   
I raised my left eyebrow. If I could keep a secret… “Proceed.”  
“I want to taste you.” His nibbled my earlobe. My eyes rolled.   
“Try the appetizer first, and if it’s good,” I panted. “We’ll order the main course.”  
“I like the offer.” The bergamot in his cologne dripped the musk stemming the backseat. His nerves gave way to assurance as I shook my head yes.  
I nipped his bottom lip. “Bite me.”  
He returned the favor. His top two teeth tugged, gentle, as he sucked the bottom half of my mouth, alternating from the top and back, licking in-between.   
“I am tired of being careful, safe. I want to fuck up.”  
“Take me with you.”  
The car turned a corner. “Do you want to play a game?”  
“I am fond of them. What kind?”  
“The kind of game where I make you come and you not utter a sound.”  
“I don’t believe I’ll pass…” I murmured, as I grazed the sharp edges of his right cheek.   
“I think you will.” The subtle wink signed our consent. “Ready?”  
“…and willing.”  
“Pull up your dress.”  
Ever so obedient, I pulled it mid-thigh. Teasing. Daring him to ask me to hike it further.  
“Tsk. Tsk.” He breathed. “Higher.”  
I pulled my dress to my hip. He glimpsed my thighs, shapely yet toned. Walking six flights of stairs, a day be damned. My left index finger rimmed my red lace bikini.   
“What are you doing with those?” His penetrating stare fixed on me, daring me to make the wrong choice.  
“I’m taking them off for you.”  
“Keep them on. If I want them off, I take care of the job.”  
I smirked. “Okay.”  
He unlocked his seat belt and turned to the side, facing me. “Throwing safety out the window, remember?”  
I went for my lock and he tapped my handle, wagging his finger. “No. You stay strapped.”  
“Okay.”  
He leaned in closer. His tongued darted my mouth. “Strawberry…”   
London awoke in the backdrop of the randy moment. Cars zoomed and stalled while he continued tasting my lips, licking and nipping.   
He leaned me back into the seat by slipping his left hand in-between my thighs, gripping the muscles in his massive hands. “Your skin is so fucking smooth.”  
His hand reached my cunt. He whispered. “What do we have here?”  
He tapped the top of my bikini. “Are you wet? Why I have not touched you.”  
“I…”  
“Do not be ashamed.”  
“Don’t tease her.”  
“I know what to do.”  
He pried my thighs open some more, tracing several s’s across them until he reached my cunt again. He took four of his fingers and tapped her. Each smack rang louder. I looked at the partition.   
“Do not fret. I am not paying him to listen.”  
“But, he will…”  
“No, he won’t.”  
He tapped some more. My eyes squeezed shut, as his strange, pale eyes glued to me. “What a fat kitty you have…”  
“Fat enough to take all of you in.” My cunt raged with a desperate fire. I figured the best we’d do is everything but a total dickdown. No glove. No love. No matter the bank account.  
“How many? One?” He shoved the satin to the side and rapped my outer labia, swollen to the touch. “I do adore a fresh wax.”  
‘”Let’s try one.” He flicked my clit, taking her in-between his index and middle fingers, easing the length of his long fingers as he pulled back, stroking long and steady. “There’s the little man…”  
“Two please.” I moaned, uttering a slight, kittenish cry. “Please.”  
“What did I say about not making any noise?” His free hand seized my neck while the other smacked my cunt.   
“I’m sorry.”  
“If you can’t stay quiet, kiss me and I’ll know.”  
“Okay.” I glimpsed his crotch. His print lined his trousers. Please let me suck your cock. “Two, please.”  
“Two it is…” He grinned. He inserted them, slow and shallow, alternating as his fingers walked. Deeper he thrusted. “Ride them.”  
I took them in, grinding my hips slowly and steady. Slow and steady circles. A quick dip or two and rocking back into slow circles. I kept my eyes on him, rocking back and forth, and tightening his grip on my neck. His eyes turned into smoldering slits. The scent of sex permeated the air.   
I outlined his top lip with my tongue as two concurring moans ventured my breath. Give me your cock, sir. Give me.   
He sucked my neck, blowing circles as I quickened the dips to a bounce.  
“Hmm, I am about to…”  
“Not yet.” His hand raced from my throat to clutching my hair. Strands of curls framed my face.  
“I can’t…” As his fingers delved deeper and deeper, his fingers lathered with my warm juice.   
My nipples stiffened from the draft, peering, begging to feel his warm tongue. “Finger your nipples to keep from coming.”  
“Hmm…” I nodded took both of them through the dress, rubbing them against the trim of the lace. They perked some more, angry cherries.   
“Yeah right.” I gasped. My heartbeat raced as he stroked. Between focusing on my nipples and his fingers fucking my cunt, my eyes crossed. My hands shook as I grasped his arm. I wanted to scratch.   
“Oh, god B, I can’t stop.” I cried, clutching his shoulder. “I can’t stop. Fuck the game.”  
He sneered. “There’s always another chance to win.”   
His fingers power-walked as the strokes became furious and fast. “Come for me.”  
“You son of a bitch…”  
“No.” I looked at his cock, raging through his pants.  
“Do you want to suck him?”  
“Yes.” I nodded. The insolent kid in the candy store, tweaking for a chocolate button, or better still, a peppermint stick.  
“If you must…”  
I unbuckled his pants. He guided them to his ankles. Commando, prepared for work, I took his reddened cock into my hands. Stiff and European. Average sized, my full lips needed not worry about taking all of him in. My gag reflex yearned for stroking.   
He reclined into his seat.   
I brushed the tufts of ginger encircling his cock. I lock my eyes on him as I slipped his head into my mouth, teasing against the grain of my lips. I slid him further into my mouth, sliding up and down his shaft, ending each trip with an air kiss on his tip. Taking him deeper, smooth, and ever so slippery, I smiled my confidence in handling his jolly roger.   
While I liked sucking his cock, I loved his face, twisted with angelic vulnerability. His eyes rolling to the back of his head, twittering between losses of control and maintaining the reigns. I keep the tempo at a medium pace. I’m blowing him, but he’s not fucking my face…yet. He’s clasped in my hand, slight, as I traced my tongue from his angry, red tip to the base where his large balls greeted me. I tickled them, flicking them slow and speeding up as he begged me to return his cock.   
“Latanya…”  
“You like my mouth on your cock?”  
“God bless America…” He growled as he gripped my hair, which is fine with me as I sped my strokes, alternating between fast and slow.  
“Don’t come yet.” I whispered.  
He panted as he ran his hands through his curls, no longer restrained by mousse. “Keep working your magic, I cannot promise you.”  
I was in no hurry to make him come since I relished the moment. I licked the underside of his cock, rubbing him back and forth against my lips. “I love full lips…”  
“Which pair?”  
“You witty bitch…” He paused, looking down. “Sorry.”  
“I like when you talk tough.”  
My head bobbed up and down as he palmed my head like a rugby ball. I’m bringing him close to the edge. I’m sure of it.   
He shivered. “I’m about to come.”  
“Let me drink you.”  
“She doesn’t swallow…” He muttered, turning his head towards the window.  
His cock swelled and he trembled, gripping my nape. “Shit, Latanya…”   
I swallowed every ounce. When did he last come? I continued sucking his cock, soft and gentle, as he shivered. His teeth chattered.   
I caressed him with my lips, sucking the tip of his cock, working the last sip.   
His cock slipped from my mouth and I hoisted myself on the leather seat. I straightened my dress.   
“Edward, Belgrave Road, please.” He huffed as he pulled his pants up.  
“Thanks for the evening.”  
He seized my wrist. “I want you for me and me alone while you’re here.”  
“You sound like you want a kept woman.” I chuckled.  
“I do.”  
The car veered to the front of my flat. I unclipped my seat belt. I glimpsed a shot of me in the mirror. Smudged makeup. Wind-tunneled hair. A smirk. The symptoms of a great night.   
“I guess I passed.”   
He stroked my cheek. “There’s time for more tutoring sessions.”


	3. To Shelf or Not to Shelf?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Concerns, Books, and Steamy Visits at Work

I dashed the stairs. My key jammed as my hands trembled. Once in, I kicked my shoes off. God knew where they landed. The credit card I used paid the bill, so I cared less. The rush of water in the basin snapped my haze. The reflection in the mirror reflected a gob smacked face.  
“I blew a man I met yesterday.” The splash of water dampened the heat of my neck. “I blew a man…”  
My phone rang. “Hello?”  
“I want to see you tomorrow.” The   
“…and Donald Trump wants the presidency.”  
“I cannot stop thinking about you.” His voice quavered, sounding as though he anticipated an instant no on my part.   
“Slow down.” I panted, plopping on my bed. My head spun at a hurried pace. I couldn’t breathe. “This whole thing is going too fast.”  
“Your scent lingers on my fingers.” His lisp strengthened as his voice trailed, dreamlike and wistful.  
“Wash your hands.” I snickered.   
He hummed. “I am serious.”  
I rested the phone on my chest. What the hell am I doing? The tube of toothpaste in the medicine cabinet flashed my mind. I could still taste him.   
“Pick the place.”  
He blurted. “The Bloomsbury Hotel.”  
“Maybe we should start slow.” I paused. “How about a restaurant?”  
His voice lowered. “I require privacy.”  
“Are you holding something from me?” I chuckled, sleeping into my university’s sleeping t-shirt. “Are you married?”  
Silence. Whoa. The joke faltered. I coughed to disrupt the awkward bend of words.   
“Shall I send the car?”   
“Why not?” I clasped my hands in my lap. My stomach fluttered.   
“Ten o’clock.” Import and authority marked his subtle lisp.  
“See you then.” I hopped the bed, bouncing like a goofball, ignoring my neighbor’s clanging broomstick from the floor below, imploring me to stop.  
# # #  
The chime rang as I entered the shop. Two customers – a woman in leggings, clinging to the flat lines she hoped to curve, and a guy, cowering in the corner near the Erotica section. His eyes, beady and darting, spoke his truth. He lives with his mom. Poor thing.  
“Good morning, dearie.” Willie flung her hair into a messy chignon. Her oversized green shirt highlighted the amber of her eyes. Her grin, an envy of the world’s lottery winner, beamed.   
“How was your evening?”  
“Surprising.” I drew a breath and exhaled. You’re my boss. Let’s keep it that way. I headed to the back to straighten some shelves.   
She followed, laying her hand on my shoulder. “Be careful.”  
“Why would you say that?” I licked my lips. My eyes blinked in rapid succession. “Do you have those lights you wanted hung?”  
“Whatever happens, secrets do have a way of popping up and spitting ten times the venom we thought never existed.” She leaned onto the side of the bookshelf. Her nose wrinkled, as if smelling a bad scent.   
She’s picking up my bullshit. “Mistress Yoda, speak plain.” I furrowed my eyebrows.  
“Be careful.” She wagged her finger.   
“What is he gay?” Bitch, I don’t think so. On the other hand, he bested Olivier in the acting department.   
“No judgment.” She opened a box on the counter.   
“Willie, you’re cool people and I hope we become friends.” I cleared my throat. “My personal life is…personal. Nothing happened between us.” My voice, emphatic and strong, carried the lie with full disclosure.  
“For now.” She turned to assist the creepy crawler in the corner.   
I focused on hanging the multi-colored Christmas lights and muttered. “Sure, Jan.”  
I climbed the mini ladder to clip a strand, gripping the sides and praying not to bust my ass on my second day of employment.   
“Do not fall on me again.” He squeezed the back of my thighs, securing them.   
A familiar tingle clanged my spine as I whispered over my shoulder. “If I do, will you catch me?”  
“After last night, is there anything I would not do?” He held out his hand.   
As I climbed down, my eyes focused on the freckles on his neck, yearning to lick them. It’s only fair. My own craved attention.  
“Kind sir,” My best imitation of a posh chick popped. “The words you say…”  
He moved forward and I stepped back, bumping against the self-help books of Tony Robbins and Rhonda Bryne. His lips parted and his eyes firm. “I had to see you.”  
“Every man needs to see their new toy. Don’t they?” I stared at his mouth, desiring to erase the distance the bookstore forced. Willie, go home.   
I looked to my right. Willie scurried behind the counter, shooting me a side-eye. Don’t you say anything.  
“I want you to wear this tonight.” He handed me a brown bag with a large F and M. Fortnum & Mason. My stomach jumped at the chance to tear the bag. “Open it when you get home.”  
“What is it?” A bit down on my smile. Keep cool. My body vibrated between the joy of earning a gift and wanting to smash his face with mine, no matter the audience.  
“You will see.” His voice lowered as the tips of his fingers snuck underneath my camisole, tickling the side of my stomach. They traveled to my right breast. He blocked Willie’s view by standing closer to me as he tweaked my nipple with his index finger and thumb.   
“If it fits, beautiful.” He sighed, leaning closer, whispering in my ear. An eager imprint bordered his jeans. “If it does not, great.”  
“Ten o’clock?” I glimpsed over his shoulder. Willie craned her neck to catch a peek. I bet she wishes she had giraffe DNA.  
“The car will be out front.” He continued whispering in my ear. His tweaking changed to fervent pulling until the headlights beamed through my shirt.   
“I’ll be there.” My hand moseyed to the front of his jeans, where little batch jerked. I grasped the head, caressing as much as our confined space allowed.   
He groaned as he swallowed fast. His eyes darted from my face. “When you arrive at the hotel, refer to the Doctor when you reach the concierge.”  
“The Doctor?” My hand lingered on his head. My chuckle, sly and sure. “Like Doctor Who?”   
He cocked his head as if saying, ‘Really?’ “He will ask your name.”  
“I’ll give him my name.” My hand traveled from his head to the zipper, venturing further to his shaft. “Then what?”  
He grasped the side of my hip as my stroke heightened. Red flushed his cheeks. “You will say Miss Brown.”   
“Miss Brown?” I did a double take.  
“Go with it.” His breath quickened as my stroke hastened. “Behind closed doors, your name shall be Honey.”   
“…and why ‘Honey’?” His turgid length pronounced. I squeezed a gentle tug, followed by successive, long strokes.   
A smile etched his face, slow and crooked. His eyes spoke of treading the fine line from decency and “Where’s the storeroom?”  
“Sweet fuck.” He gripped my wrist and trembled as his free hand ruffled his hair. “I imagine that is how your pussy will feel like when I fuck you. Warm and smooth with a sweet taste.”  
He limped against my hand. Stickiness warmed his boxer briefs as I licked my fingers.   
“Pardon me. I had a small breakfast.” I stole a bite from his lip, hasty and clumsy.   
We checked for Willie. She feigned interest at the magazine rack by the door.  
He swaggered out the entrance. “Good afternoon, Willie.”  
She shot a look at me. Her eyebrows scrunched. “Nice to see you.”  
I yelled. “Come again.”  
She shook her head. “Tsk. Tsk.”   
I lifted the bag. “I left my coat and he was gracious to bring it back.”  
“Mmm-hmm.””  
I returned my gaze to the book, stabbing me in the back. Ah, The Secret. A coincidence?


	4. Crash Into Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chronicles of the two lovers continue.

The taxi stopped at the front of the hotel. I tightened the straps to the tan double-breasted trench coat he gifted me. My first Burberry item. Splendid. No matter how warm the coat, a shiver climbed my spine, meandering a fervent course to each corner of my body. The coat fell to the top of my knees, adding to the chill.   
The door attendant greeted me. He ogled my bright red toes. I wiggled them for him. “Lovely shoes, Miss.”  
I stared at the black stilettos. “Thank you.”  
I sauntered down the red carpet, rivaling Halle Berry on her best day – okay average day. Guests sipped on their tea, eyeing me from their peripheral. A man strained his neck like an ostrich, following me from the door to the concierge’s desk. From my side view, his wife pinched his arm and he yelped.   
The young man, twentysomething, perked as I approached. “Good evening, Miss. Welcome to the Bloomsbury Hotel.”  
“Thanks for having me.”  
“How may I help you?”  
I perused the room, seeking some distance from prying ears. I whispered. “I’m here for the Doctor.”   
“Your name?”   
“Miss Brown.” My tongue poked and touched my top lip. The name lingered on my tongue.   
He thrusted his chest and slid the key my way. The tips of his olive fingers touched mine. “Oh yes. He is e-e-expecting you.”   
“Thank you.”  
He straightened his collar. “No. Thank you.”  
I smiled and headed towards the lift. “I put a spell on you…”  
I pushed the button for the top floor. As the lift climbed, I wet my lips so much I applied and reapplied my cherry lip-gloss two-fold. My foot jittered the floor, rapping a rhythm I pocketed for later use.   
“What is he going to do to me?” I poked my hand in my purse as the doors opened. Two packets should suffice.   
Sweat clung to my hands as I sauntered the long hallway filled with ornate vases and exotic flowers. I wiped them on the side of the coat. Don’t let him see you sweat…yet.  
Two raps on the door. With a twist, it opened to no one there.   
“Doctor?” I called before I entered. “Doctor, are you there?”  
I smoothed my coat. My hands needed something to grab. I entered against my better judgment, tilting my head to the side. “Oh, doctor? Where are you, doctor?”  
My posture perked. “Are we playing another game?”  
I parted my lips, inserting the tip of my finger to bite and called in a kittenish tone. “Will I win this time?”  
My eyes ping-ponged every inch of the opulent room, washed in purples and mauves. The king-sized bed, turned-down, awaited two bodies, if we chose to use it.  
“Drop your purse.” The deep timbre shook me.   
I did as instructed. “Yes, Doctor.”  
He came from behind me, wrapped his hand, big and strong, around my neck. “Leave whatever you know behind.”  
“Yes.”  
With his free hand, he slipped his hand underneath my coat. “I see you’re wearing your gift.”  
“Do you wish to see it?”  
“Do not move.” He sat on the purple armchair next to the bed. “Turn around.”  
He sat, turgid, on the edge of the seat. Spine straight as a board and whispered. “Undress slowly.”  
I unwrapped the straps one by one. I fixed my eyes on him as I undid each button. He never squirmed, sitting assured of whatever plans he yielded.   
The coat fell to my ankles. In my red lace panties and bra set, I stood before him.   
“Come closer.”   
The three inches between us dissipated. My belly button aligned with his nose. He leaned into my stomach and inhaled. His hands traipsed the side of my thighs as he reached behind me, seizing my ample ass in his massive clutch.   
He uttered against my skin. “It is a crime to carry all of this without one to admire it.”  
“You’re doing both.” I shivered. “Now that you have in your hands, what are you going to do with it?  
He snapped my garter with his teeth, hoisting himself from the chair. “Sit down.”  
I headed for the bed. He swung my arm. “Patience. We will get there.”  
“Where do you want me?”  
He guided me to the same seat. “Here.”  
“Okay.”  
He walked over to the nightstand, pulling out a black satin mask. “Wear this.”  
“I want to see every inch of you…”  
He gripped my shoulders, reclining them. The mask slid across my eyes. The softness chilled my senses, heightening them. “You will feel every inch. Better for the both of us.”  
“Yes, please.” I panted. My hands roamed the chair, seeking him.   
He seized them. “What did I say? Patience is for the strong.”  
“Then I am weak without shame.”  
He laughed. Better for him to say, ‘this bitch…’ and get on with it.   
I stained to hear his creeps across the carpet. Oh shit. “What will you do to me?”  
“Remember our game from the other night?”  
“Make me cum without a sound.”  
“Why not up the ante?”  
“How?”  
“I shall make you cum with the least of contact.”  
“What did I say about teasing her?”  
“It is not a tease I am after.” He paused. “I want her to cry for me just before I enter.”  
“All men talk, but don’t please.”  
“Was I the one talking or was you the one screaming last night?”  
I swallowed hard. “I stand corrected.”  
He snatched one of my legs, pulling it one armrest. “Do you trust me?”  
“I don’t know if I should…”  
“You should.” He snatched the other, pulling it to the opposite armrest. Spread-eagle to him, I seized my breath.   
I stroked the velvet mound as my hands, along with Miss Kitty, moistened. “I think I will…”  
I heard him creep closer. He hesitated and then dropped to his knees. “You have to excuse me in advance. I skipped dinner.”  
“I have more than enough nourishment for you.”  
His hands breezed my legs, traveling to my thighs until he reached my hips. The rip resounded my ears. I’m glad I didn’t get attached to them. The material fell to the floor.   
My hips rocked back and forth, anticipating him. My teeth bit my bottom lip. My hands, begging to grasp him, reached out. “Please.”  
He restrained them. His voice teased. “Keep your hands to yourself or no candy.”  
“You have all of this mapped out…”  
“I am English. We always come prepared.”  
He circled my aureoles with his tongue, squeezing lightly with lips. His tongue flicked my nipples, sucking as they perked. Biting a bit, I flinched as the twitching pursued my cunt.   
“Did I hurt you?”  
“In the good way.” I murmured. “You’re hurting me by making me wait. Go lower, please.”   
He ventured to the inside of my thighs. Soft kisses caressed them. I hummed the rhythm of those kisses. Hurry you bastard. He primed my calves and ankles with the same dexterity in his kisses.   
He peppered my stomach with baby kisses. I moaned as he blew warm air, nipping at my skin. Those kisses changed to licks as he staggered to my belly button and above Miss Kitty. “I want your honey drip on my tongue…”  
“The jar is yours.”  
He pried my thighs apart further. “Are you ready?”  
He nipped at the skin above my slit. “You smell so delicious.”  
His nose drifted into my lap and he groaned as his stubble feathered the downy curls of my lower set of lips, throbbing. He parted me, driving his tongue inside. Home sweet home.  
“Ahh…”  
“I think I will need a bib for my feast.”  
I wanted him to fuck me so bad, but I relished the journey. I reclined further into the chair as much as the ties permitted. My body and mind fraught with conflict. He licked the outside and inside of my lips with caution and broad, flat strokes. He paused as not to make me come sooner than we both wanted.   
My clit braced as he began to suck. Strawberries must be his favorite fruit. His lips held tight as his tongue darted its sopping goodness. A fire socked my core and I began to twitch. The silk around the ankles tightened as I shuddered. Confused, I wished for to him to flip me and fuck me. But, patience was indeed a virtue – one cloying the back of my neck, rimming to the top of my utmost frustrations.  
He raised his head and kissed me hard, stealing my breath. Without a second lost, he nestled his head back in my lap. The fragrance of my arousal permeated the space between.   
“You smell so fucking good.”  
I swept his curls into my hair, burying him. He slurped – a raging toddler ravishing his Mama’s bowl of spaghetti. Odd to think so. He enjoyed playing with his food, discovering the swirl of my nectar upon his lips, shining. He licked at them, replacing them with more juice. He paused.  
“That’s a good boy.” I panted, writhing against his ferocious touch. “Eat up to get your dessert.”  
I slipped a bit, rising to steady myself.   
He gripped my hips. The jaguar growled. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”  
“Nowhere, of course.” I murmured.  
He shoved his tongue in and out, racing against an imaginary clock. The posh scoundrel’s mission set. Once again, I lost.   
The pleasure surge risen from my toes to my face. The urge to sneeze intensified. Fuck it. The battle’s done.   
I gripped his head, yanking his curls as my legs quavered. “Ahh, B…”  
He thrust a finger inside me, crooking to the spot that made me yell. “You dirty motherfucker.”  
He snickered, quickening his finger’s pace. My hips kept sped, rocking back and forth against its thrust. He inserted another finger and the two danced in a fever as I dripped onto them.   
“Fuck you.” My mouth twisted as I tensed. The rising notes in my throat gave way to a high-pitched aria, parodying Jessye Norman in an obscene, but delicious operatic moment. “I’m sorry.   
He removed my mask. A quiet storm collided in his eyes as he fixed them at me. “Do not fucking apologize. Look at me while you come. “  
I let go. Grunts became moans, faltering to the high squeals. My teeth clattered. “I’m coming.”  
He pulled them out and I heard him smacking his lips. “Fan-bloody-tastic.”  
“You have such a filthy mouth. Perhaps, I need to fill it.”   
He hoisted himself, standing before me. His stiff cock brushed against both my cheeks. The zipper rang. Before I could gulp, my mouth clasped upon him, sucking hard. My head bobbed as he gripped my hair. He trembled, harder than last night. His body quivered as his arms massaged my neck, pulling his cock more as I sucked.   
“You delicious scamp…” For a second, he misplaced us in a Victorian novel. I smirked as I kept my speed. Kneel before me. “A little teeth…”  
I scraped him lightly. Why hurt what I want? He jerked. His eyes closed shut. My ego sneered its arrogance as I watched his knees fumble and I knew, seconds from now, I sealed my retaliatory abilities when his salty seal of approval drenched my throat.   
“Whose is it?”  
“Yours, Honey.” He whimpered as his toned ass clenched. “It is all you.”  
One volatile tremor later, I swallowed him as he stared, panting, and rosy cheeks aglow. He unleashed my legs and they tumbled to the floor, weak and lucid.   
He knelt between my thighs, hugging one. “I wish I could put in my pocket and carry you wherever I go.”  
“You can do whatever you want, if you allow yourself to do so.”  
He looked up. His eyes, sad as a lone pup, squinted. “I cannot.”  
His phone rang. He lumbered to the nightstand and answered. “What? It is your turn.”   
“Why must you play these games?” He walked to the bathroom, closing the door. The current of the shower rushed.   
I grabbed a glass of ice water. I winced as I scanned the floor, spotting the crumbled red lace. Commando in the streets of London.  
He opened the door. “The room is yours. Can you wait for me tomorrow morning?”  
“I have to meet with my fellowship advisor.”  
“Shit.”  
“Why don’t you stop by my place?”  
He shook his head no.  
“Wear some shades and a baseball cap and come around in the evening.”   
“It is a deal.”   
“Latanya?”  
“Yes?”  
“If you need a glimpse of how you make me feel, listen to Dave Matthews.”  
“I love him.”  
“Listen to “Crash Into Me.” He sums it in perfect fashion.” He kissed me, leaving me clutching my coat.


	5. The Carpenters Were Right about Rainy Days and Mondays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Along with a nerve-wrecking interview off-set by a newer approach to appreciating London's loo, Latanya finds the classic Carpenters song rings true as her day comes to a close.

The clock buzzed seven o’clock as rays of sun pounced in the walls. Clenching the bedsheet in my hand, I snuggled into the pillow. “Fifteen minutes more please.”  
Without fail, I stared at the ceiling, thumbing my nose at the outline I created for my first three months in the city. I settled into a closet of an apartment. Check. I nabbed a gig at a bookstore, thanks to a friend. Check. I hooked up with an actor still unknown to me in a suite, higher than two months’ tuition. Wait. What?  
I wriggled, making the most of a warm bed and plush velvet blankets. Julia Roberts, eat your heart out. Okay, bad reference. I glimpsed the nightstand. No money or offers to accompany him to a week’s worth of events while in town. Would I even go if he asked? In the final throes of the last night, I wondered if I cheated myself my placing my eggs in the English man’s basket before sampling the other farmers.   
I blinked as the beams of light flickered in my eyes. “I’m no good…”  
Blowing out a series of breaths, I attempted to gain the control lost. An aromatic scent eclipsed me. I looked across the room. A bouquet of roses in a glass vase tied in red ribbon set high and full on the coffee table. I lifted the card attached to a bud after sniffing its sweet perfume.   
The card read, “Latanya, I value our time together. In this short time, I chose never to second guess myself again.”  
“How quick they become attached.” I rubbed a hand over my chest. You will not fall in love. You will not fall in love. You will not…  
On the other hand, did I refer to myself? In town seventy-two hours, and my stomach quivered. Dizziness ensued. My temperature operated hot or cold on a dime’s toss. The calamities coursing my body craved not a pill or syrup of relief. Homesickness? No. I forgot to call home. Two postcards sat on the corner counter, awaiting postage. Unanswered text lined my phone.   
Over a fellow whose movies or shows I never viewed. Nevertheless, his presence in my daily scheduled demanded an encore. You’re a two-night stand at most. Let it go.   
I leaped into bed, covering my head with the pillow. My phone rang. I screamed. “Fifteen minutes I said.”   
My arm sung out toward the nightstand and by the third ring, I answered. If I missed a call from my advisor, an eloquent excuse, such as, ‘My lover wore me out last night’, catalogued as feeble and uncreative, traits my writing despised.   
The phrase, ‘Private Caller’ surfaced on my Android. Last month, those two words spurred visions of bill collectors and dumped boyfriends, resorting to trips to a voicemail with a bland message and a pitiful beep. What a difference thirty days made! A smile hoisted me from the pillow.   
“Hey, you.”   
“Hey, you too.” The jaguar awakened. His crooked smile resonated a roar, sleepy and pensive, across the phone.  
My pulse skipped. “This isn’t the morning after I imagined.”   
I wiped my eyes. They glimpsed the vase. “Thanks for the flowers.”  
“I owe you.”  
I giggled. “That’s a debt I’m sure will repay itself two-fold.”  
He grew silent. “Every time I think of you I get thirsty.”  
“What do you mean?” I toyed with a lock of my hair. Play dumb. Get him to spill the beans after flicking yours. You need a pep talk before your meeting. Thirsty as in thirsty for some sexual release? Attention? I agreed. His eyes shook with a craving whenever I saw him and I quenched him when asked.   
Please tell me he did not look for pop cultural references better to communicate with me. Don’t become problematic, my dear. I walk to the bathroom, turning the faucet on the Italian marble tub. The steam fumed the room.   
“No,” He chuckled. “When I look at you, I see the perfect cuppa.”  
“Cuppa? As in tea?”  
“Yes.”   
Corny. The man’s verbal game demanded a tutorial. One compared to Idris Elba or Tom Hiddleston.  
“I remind you of tea.” I covered my mouth, muffling the laugh I bellowed. Poor baby’s trying hard. You passed the audition. Relax.  
“You fascinate me. I never had…”  
“I’m your first in many ways, right?”  
“Y-Y-Yes. I meant no offense.” He paused. “Honest. I get in trouble a lot for saying the one things.”  
“None taken. The assumption was there.” I smiled. “Although, no one’s likened me to a cup of brewed tea before. You must be milk. Cute.”  
“Ah, cute.” He sighed. “Do not liken me to an otter or something silly like that.”  
“Excuse me?” Was that a Sherlock reference? I noted in my mind to research, research, and research throughout the day about this paramour of mine. Stay in the now.  
“Never mind.” He laughed, but in a second, grew silent again. “Sweetheart, I want to tell you something and I do not know how…”  
Static and two clicks interrupted us. “B, you’re breaking up…”  
“Can you hear me?”  
“No. Wait.” I swayed to the right. Static. I swayed to the left. “I can hear you now.”  
“There is a bit of information I edited. I…”  
The call dropped. What was so important to tell me?  
# # #  
The morning crush of the Tube lulled me into a small nap on the train. The punt of a kid’s fist against my arm woke me. I tossed my earbuds into my lap, shooting the kid a look. Remind me sort a prescription for the pill.  
“Sorry.” The boy, all of five and a few chocolates too many, slapped a hand over his mouth. He gripped his toy Arabian horse.   
“No worries, kid.” Back home, in Philadelphia, I would have punted him. Today, such thoughts scored a dim light.  
I replaced my earbuds and pushed play on my playlist. The echoes of Bush’s “Mouth” reverberated and I sank further into my seat. These chords summed what I think of you, B.   
My knees wobbled against the side of the train. Breathless. “Take that.”  
“Huh?”  
I shook my head. The announcer declared the next stop and I stepped off. I hustled to the bathroom, dumping thirty pence in the slot. I bent down, checking for heels, flats, and sneakers. No need for an audience. The anonymity of the empty room welcomed me. I flung my purse and trench on the hook, pushing myself against the wall as the song progressed. My phone vibrated.  
“Hey, you.” I puffed.   
“Are you okay? You sound out of breath.”  
“I need your help.” My shoulders tensed. “I’m slipping under…”  
“Where are you?”  
“I’m in a tube station bathroom.”  
“Naughty girl.”  
“Fast learner.”  
“I am in the middle of a meeting. But, I can help you.”   
“Whisper and somehow your voice will carry nonetheless.”  
The ding of the elevator on his side heightened the racing of my heart. “Hike up your skirt.”  
Amid the announcement of the eight-thirty train, my breath hitched as my pencil skirt slinked my hips above my panties. Satin rasped the back of my hand. I slid two fingers into the wetness, swelling. The tiled Pine-sol wreaked havoc on my nose, but I failed to care. His voice dictated the path my senses staggered.  
“How happy are you to hear from me?”  
“Ecstatic.” A moan fell from my lips as my index finger brushed my berry, slick and taut. I preferred his long piano dancers, but a desperate chick handled what a moment offered.   
“Start slow.”  
“It’s funny you say that…”  
“Focus.” He shushed me. “Think of what I shall do to you the next time we are together.”  
I turned my head to the side, pressed against the bathroom wall. “I don’t have a lot of time. My meeting…”  
“Well, then we will have to make this one count.”  
# # #  
I could be wrong, but my venture into the station bathroom added pep to a set of legs, wobbling from nerves. After years of striving to make writing ends meet, the chance to start a new life perked my ambition. The fellowship meant the world to me as writing coursed my body as natural as oxygen. No fuck ups. No stuttering. No imbecilic answers for meeting.   
What I gained in the rendezvous boiled down to a short-lived moment. A big x marked the opposite ends of the school’s lift by yellow caution tape. Narrow, marble steps leered in the background. You’ve got to be kidding! I looked forward to the Amazonian legs gifted me this season.   
“What floor can I find Dean Aston?”  
The receptionist ran her fingers, stubby and frail, alongside the listings. Her hair, the tint of birthday party punch, blinded me. “The fifth, Miss.”  
“The fifth?” I sighed as I answered with a small nod.  
“Yes.”  
“The lift’s broken.” I bit my tongue. The moment of sharing the obvious passed through me like a kidney stone. No shit.   
“This too shall pass.” She shook her head, giving me her best “What do you want from me?” guise. “Sorry.”  
I eased out of my maroon wedges. Dress stylish, they said. Dress for success, they said. Dress for the hammering to match your nails, they should have said. My feet, covered in stocking braced by lace garters, trekked the ten flights. My deodorant abandoned me on number five. A gym membership yielded no new customer since the city fortified my lower half better than a treadmill or elliptical. A toned tush to grapple in a pair of hands the size of baseball gloves? A splendid trade.  
Dean Aston met me at the foot of the stairs. The older woman greeted me in a tan tweed suit and a shellacked bun. “I could not find a more fitting metaphor for what the fellowship has in store for you.”  
“Believe you me, this experience is added to the list of thrills London has planned for me.”  
She ushered me into her office. Honors from the Guardian. A Ph.D. A signed picture from the Queen ornamented the walls. The honors rang true to her face, catlike and scrutinizing. She refused to withhold her gaze.   
Dean Aston held out her hand for me to sit. “I will make this quick. You offer us as much as we offer you. Your work is exceptional.”  
“Thank you.” No smiling. No cheesing. Poker face on patrol. “I’m honored.”  
“May I ask what your project will entail?” She clasped her hands on the desk. She never blinked.   
“Romance and sex.” I nudged my collar. “Does the myth of the whirlwind exist in modern London?”  
“Fascinating.” One blink. She laid a finger on her chin. “With today’s technology, I suggest it does not.”  
No pictures of a family – not even a poodle. How would she know? Has she experienced her eyes rolling in the back of her head with a curl of her toes? She preferred vanilla sex. Missionary. Two grunts. No mess or stress. Done to preserve the kingdom. “Looks can deceive.”  
“Nonfiction?” Her eyes danced. Did she wish for statistics or pictures to spank her cherry after work?   
“A novella.” I smirked, setting my characters in motion. An English man and an American woman. A titillating duo. “A realistic novella.”  
“With your background, I would have assume true stories as part of your portfolio here.”  
My crossed my legs, trembling from the woman’s pushy demeanor. “What’s easier to believe?”  
She cleared her throat. Two pauses later. “The unimaginable.”  
I grinned. “Precisely.”  
# # #  
The meeting ran thirty minutes late. I hurried into the shop. Showers misted the windows. My umbrella, a distant memory, left on the train. My bouncy curls beaten into an untamed, frizzy mane.   
“I’m sorry, Willie.”  
“You look like a rain-kissed angel with her own halo.” She perched cross-legged on the counter. Her slate grey eyes, fringed in long, fake eyelashes, darted at me, before she reburied them in a tabloid.   
“What do you have there?” I hopped the counter as another compact book nerd fancying alternative seating. “Is that some fancy book-learning?”  
“Lifestyles of the Rich and Stupid.”  
“Is that the one with the topless chicks?”  
Her translucent hand spun to the cover. “Bingo.”  
“It’s funny how that flies over here.” I slapped my hand across my forehead.   
“Don’t bite the hand that may feed you.”  
“I can’t write for such trash.”  
“Are we a prude all of a sudden?” Her voice, loud and full of bluster, radiated a sense of moral superiority.   
“What is that supposed to mean?”  
“Nothing.” She thrusted her chest and huffed. “Absolutely nothing.”  
So, your blatant rudeness meant nothing. What a crock! I stared at her, probing her face as she read. She looked up, averting my gaze as I scrutinized her bold move. She returned her eyes to the newspaper and cleared her throat.  
“Look at that pair.” She pointed to the breasts of a woman, inspiring the latter to topple the ground on a daily basis.  
“Do you think they’re real?”  
“No. They are too firm.”  
“I can sit my mug on them and she won’t flinch from the burn.”  
We looked at each other, laughing. I straightened some bookmarks behind me. She folded the paper and sat on top of it.  
“Why did you do that?” I gasped, grabbing her arm.   
“Nothing.” She tucked in her upper lip, shaking her head with vigor.  
“Well, can I read it?” I raised my voice, bored by the game she matched. “What’s the big damn deal?”  
“It’s trash.” She slanted her body away from me.  
“You slobbered over said trash a few minutes ago.” I tugged at the newspaper. Her legs glued to the surface.  
“Latanya, why don’t you go in the back and fix yourself.” Pointing to my hair, she handed me a ponytail holder.  
“My hair’s just fine. It’ll air dry and I’ll remain fabulous.” I tugged at the paper again. For someone as petite as I am, her sturdy frame bounded tight to the wood.   
I raised my eyebrows. Something was rotten in the state of this discussion. “Why are you acting so goofy?”  
“Seriously, I think you should go in the back.” Her eyes refused to notice me. Instead, she focused on chewing the same fingernails she spent twenty pounds on the other day. “I want you to do some inventory.”  
I snatched her fingers out of her mouth. Don’t waste a good manicure, young lady. “I finished what was left yesterday.”  
“I’m sure there’s a box or two…” She crossed and uncrossed her arms, fidgeting at a crazed pace. Is she on some shit?  
“What don’t you want me to see?”   
Hairs lifted off the back of my damp neck. I checked the upper corners for imaginary security cameras. The space between us switched to an eerie capsule where I awaited the bottom fallen from beneath me. Did jokesters or a cruel reality show watch me?   
One final tug and she lifted herself off, standing onto the floor. She walked to the back of the store, calling. “Whatever you do, don’t say I never warned you.”  
I flipped the pages. My breath halted.   
What a lovely couple they made.


	6. Roses Wilt. Don't They?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rose-colored glasses slip off and Latanya must face a cocktail of shame and sadness for the lie knocking on her door.

I plastered on a smile, fake as a three-dollar bill, and folded the paper. Tears swam my eyes. Played again. I pointed to the back as Willie approached.  
My scalp prickled. I wanted to die on the spot. “Let me get to those boxes.”  
She snarled. “I want to egg his house.”  
“It’s no big deal.” My upper lip quivered. My hands rested on my hips. “Cheap fun. Nothing more. Nothing less.”  
The roses flashed in my mind. I’m a fucking fool. Sorry gut. I botched normalcy again.  
“You do not have to pretend.” She jammed her hands in her pockets, kicking at the dust bunnies on the floor with her sneakers, worn and sandy.   
“I’m not pretending. The fun expired.” Like sour milk.   
I headed to the storeroom, slamming the door. Within seconds, I reopened it and smirked. “Damn wind.”   
“That’s a mighty wind.” Willie touched her chest with her hand and loomed closer.   
“Yeah. Well.” I eased the door shut. Gripping one of the smaller boxes, I tossed it on the table. No I didn’t care whether fragile marked the sides or a sliver of grey tape scrunched the corner, displaying the journals we inflated by twenty percent. Pulling out a chair, I hooked my feet around its legs, clutching the box cutter.   
“What’s the proper consequence for a broken heart? Murder?” I fingered its red casing. “Slashed tires?”  
My shoulders sagged as I wilted, dangling my chin on the top of the box. Tears flowed each cheek.  
“I’m such an idiot.” My fists banged the table. An accent swathed in a fitted suit triggered a weeping willow, when I figured myself a redwood. I left my balls in a jar in the States. Still, no man reached the heights he did in such a short time. I rebuked any past attempt, cautious at every turn. Too cautious. Was this my karma for not throwing caution to the wind when younger? For judging those that dared?  
I tasted bile. “Look at it this way, kiddo, if lied to you, with relish, how did you play the game with her?”  
My phone vibrated. Private caller. I sent the call to voicemail.  
Twenty minutes and three more voicemails later, Willie poked her head into the entrance of the storeroom. A bag of cookies from the bakery next door swung in her hand.   
“Mmm-hmm.” I sniffed. “Do I smell macarons?”  
“Yes. Is it safe to come in?”  
“It never was unsafe.”  
She surveyed the walls and floor. “No torn books and no broken chairs.”  
She knocked on the table. “Wood’s steady.”  
She slapped my shoulder. I snorted. “I’m fine.”  
“Are you sure?” She blinked. “If you want, you can break a chair and I can blame the furniture shop. You know - faulty merchandise and all. A better deal, on their dime, can put a smile on the both of us.”  
I smiled, genuine and a wee painful to crack.   
She waved the bag in my face. “Want to break bread – er cookies – and talk shit?”  
“Won’t hurt.” I snatched the bag, popping a raspberry-filled macaron in my mouth.  
“Honey, I warned you…”  
“…and I ignored you. Lesson learned.”  
She bit into a lemon one, chewing as she stared at me and scooted closer. She hesitated.  
“Go ahead and ask.”  
“Did you sleep with him?” Her mouth snapped shut. She placed the cookie down and fiddled with her hoop earring. Her eyes pled for an answer, no matter the presumed faux pas of drudging into an employee’s personal business.  
“No. Yet, somehow I ended up fucked.”  
“Your phone’s buzzing.” She pointed, smacking on the rest of the treat.  
“I’m not deaf.”  
“It’s him, isn’t it?”  
“Yes.” I never bothered to look – didn’t have to.  
“Tell him you know all about his dastardly deeds, ay.” Her pirate impression required practice, but I laughed nonetheless.  
“I prefer the silent treatment.” I winked. “They go away faster that way.”  
A beep chimed. “See?”  
“Five calls. Impressive.”  
I shrugged. “I guess.”  
“Wanna hit the pub? Drown your sorrows?”  
“I have to watch my budget. My rent is lewd.”  
“My treat.”  
“Let me grab my coat.”  
A text notified me.   
“Answer it.” She said.  
“No.”  
“See what it says, at least.”  
“Whatever.” I swiped my finger.   
His texts read, “Why are you not answering my calls? Did I do something wrong?”  
I typed. “Go ask Sophie.”  
# # #  
The night’s venture into the pub down the street from the shop reminded me how booze and I fared better as acquaintances than lifelong friends. Three glasses of Guinness to Willie’s four wrote the limit. Thanks to her iron stomach, she ushered me to a cab.  
“It’s a good thing I didn’t fuck the bastard.” I slurred, as I swayed side to side in the backseat.   
She swatted an imaginary fly on her nose as she plopped next to me. “Why? Is he small?”  
“Far from it. He wasn’t ready for this…” I pointed to my ass, burping.   
“That’s true.” She smacked my tush.   
Oh, hold on. “That stung, dear.”  
She shined her glasses on her coat. “It’s a beauty.”  
“Wait.” I wagged my finger. “Are you making a pass at me?”  
“Oops.” She covered her mouth, burping. “Am I?”  
“You’re not strictly dickly?” I burrowed my eyebrows.   
“Strictly what?” She grinned, eyes shut. “I adore chicks. I do not partake of the peen.”  
“Good to know.” I burped. “But, he hasn’t burned me enough to join the club.”  
“Okay.” She slurred as she handed me a random card from her pocket. A pizza parlor’s company card. “I’ll print the membership form for you later.”  
We reached my flat. She snored her goodbye. I rapped the cab’s partition and handed him money. “Make sure my friend gets home in one piece, please.”  
“Right.” The gruff man tipped his head and stared in the front mirror, looking at her dozing.  
I stepped out of the car, one foot followed by the other, wobbling. Did the pavement grow by three inches? Rummaging through my purse for my keys, I underestimated and tripped, spilling its contents on the pavement. A tampon. Good to have handy. A condom. Useless. A mini spritz bottle of perfume. I whiffed under my arms. Another handy tool. Bastions of my single life splayed for looky-loos to see. One of my wedges landed in the gutter. The symbolism of my life thus far rattled my chain.   
“Damn it.”  
“Please allow me.” Long, manicured fingers tucked a lock of my hair behind my ear. He dropped his tan, leather satchel at his feet.   
I looked up. His blue trench coat set his eyes ablaze, despite the white noise clogging mine.   
“Ignored calls do not translate over here, huh?”  
He bent his knees, grabbing the tossed items.   
I snatched the tampon from his hand. His face reddened.   
“You blush at a tampon, not at cheating on your wife.” I punched his bicep, barely registering. “You’re a mess.”  
“Please let me explain.”  
“The info in this morning’s Sun scooped me. I have to decline your offer.” I swayed from left to right. Knots clamped my tongue. “Thankyouverymuch.”  
His arm steadied me. “It is for show.”  
“Tell it to your fucking fans. I don’t care.”  
“From your drunken stance, I think otherwise.”  
“You arrogant little shit.” My tongue found its home as I pounced his mouth, clutching at his blue and pink plaid shirt. He followed my lead until my tongue surrendered upon his as the tempo slowed as if calming an insolent child. He stole my breath. Blatant desire percolated between us. My body begged for more of his touch, but my mind told me to shut the store down. I ignored the latter as my hands roamed to undo the fly of his jeans.   
“Dear, we are outside.” He swooped my hands in his. He hunted for prying eyes or cameras.   
“Screw your privacy,” I bit his bottom lip. “…and fuck you.”  
“Ouch.” He whimpered, holding his lip. “That was uncalled for.”  
“I hate you. Don’t touch me.” I shoved him. Granted, our height difference led me to say those words to his chest. Nothing stopped the urge to slug him. I swung again. He seized my arm.   
“Let us not give your neighbors a reason to gossip further, shall we?” He nicked my keys from my trembling hand.  
“I can open my own damn door.”  
He unlocked the front entrance. “I will leave when I see you are okay for the night.”  
I shoved past him. Gravity and the steps denied me their support. I tumbled after missing the first three steps.  
“I have seen enough, darling.” He lifted me over his shoulder as he walked up the stairs.  
Unlocking my door, he led me to my bed.   
“You’re not getting my goodies tonight, Cumberbitch.” My arm refused to leave my coat.   
“I would not seek them in your condition.” He removed the beast, clinging to me.  
“My condition? Is that a line from one of your horrid movies?” Mind you, I still haven’t seen a single one. I deepened my voice, mocking his. “Your condition is dire, m’lady.”  
He turned his head, cupping his mouth as he laughed.   
“What’s so funny, Sir?” I trudged to my bed, burying my head. “I mean it. No funny business. I am pissed at you.”  
“As you should be.” He lowered his chin.   
“You hurt me, B.” I whinnied into the pillow as I closed my eyes.  
His presence secured me as I slept, reclining his feet on the storage trunk at the bottom of my bed. He fell asleep on the chair. No goodies were harmed in the making of our sleep.   
In the morning, I awoke to a squirrel hammering my head and a stomach rebuking any food. I fell out of bed on my way to the toilet. A note followed.   
“I can’t stop my heart from falling in love with you.”


End file.
